


The Two Sides of Black Blood in the Dark

by MizErie



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, M/M, Mental Illness, Rape, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizErie/pseuds/MizErie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>This is about the brutal rape of Frank. He is kidnapped and raped by Gerard, a man suffering with mental illness.</p><p>*Warning* This story includes graphic material that is not appropriate for younger audiences. If you are not of proper age to be reading this, then please DO NOT read it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two Sides of Black Blood in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> This is the first dark fic I ever wrote. I know there are a bunch of unanswered questions at the end of it; this is actually the basis of a novel I am currently working on that details the entire story. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with My Chemical Romance or the guys that make up the band. No part of this is true; it is purely a fictional story. Any part of this story that resembles real life is only coincidental. No parts of this story may be reproduced or used without permission.

I feel myself being pushed down on a mattress. I’m not sure where I am. I have given up trying to free my wrists from the tightly wrapped tape pinning my arms behind my back. I hear my kidnapper shuffle away, mumbling incoherently to himself. The voice isn’t familiar. Nothing at this point is familiar. The room I’m in smells of mold and mildew, almost a hint of stagnant water. I rub my head around the bed I’m on trying to free my eyes from the cloth tied too tightly around them. All I succeed in doing is pulling my hair that is trapped in the knot of the fabric. I try to lay still and listen for other sounds that might help me figure something out. I’d settle for _any_ information right now.  
  
It’s hard to hear much through the rushing of my heartbeat in my ears. But what I hear causes my already fearful brain to dump more adrenaline into my veins, footsteps drawing closer. The same half shuffling footsteps I heard moments ago. He is still talking, but it sounds like he is trying to address me, not himself.  
  
“I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t wanna hurt you. Just give me a minute. Just a little moment. I’ll come let you a little loose, just a minute. I don’t wanna cause you any pain... just want you to be happy...”  
  
Comfortable? Happy? How the fuck am I supposed to be that?! I’m tied up in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar guy rambling nonsense with no idea how I got here! I bite my tongue to keep from screaming that at him. I’m not sure if screaming would help or hurt the situation, so I’d rather not make a lot of noise at the moment. I hear a few things fall on a surface beside me. A warm, callused hand gently grabs my upper arm. I stiffen my muscles, but it’s no use. I know I can’t wiggle out of his grasp. The hand pulls me over on my stomach, wedging a pillow between my hips and the mattress.  
  
I freeze in horror. Until now, I hadn’t realized I was naked, as naked as I can get. I feel the bed shift a little as the man sits down next to me. As much as I don’t want to think about it, I know how this is going to end. I start thrashing my body around, in a last attempt to free myself... or at least stall this whole nightmare. He said he wanted me to be comfortable; if I show him I’m not maybe that would help. A heavy body quickly shifts over my legs. He sits on my ankles as he shoves another pillow between my thighs to keep my knees spread apart. I don’t want to give in. But I also know he will do less damage if I don’t fight it. How do I not consent to what’s happening without fighting?  
  
“No. Please... don’t...” My voice is weaker and whinier than I expected, my fear penetrating every syllable.  
  
“I’m not going to be... I’m making sure you are ready first.” He says calmly as he pushes a cool, slick finger into my ass. My whole body goes ridged. I’m pretty sure this guy's a few cards short of a deck. What kind of rapist takes time to prepare the vic--me, in this case? “If you don’t relax, this could take a while...” he finally speaks again. I make no move to help him enter me any more. He begins to slide his finger out. If only I am as lucky as I want to think I am. I feel his weight shift and some of the things on the surface next to me shift around. The shifting stops and the weight settles back down on my legs. I feel more cool and slick, but this is even colder, obviously an inanimate object of some sort. Once he has so carefully aligned the object to my entrance, the care ends. The object is harshly shoved inside of me, pain filling ever nerve fiber in my body. I cry out, trying to let out some of the intense sensation in my being.  
  
“You have to be prepared. You wouldn’t relax to let me do it gradually. Now, that oughta fix you right up in a little while.” I hear some more tape being pulled off a roll. “And we don’t want it coming back out until you’re ready,” he states as he applies the tape across my ass cheeks, pushing the object further inside of me. I’m glad I’m blindfolded at the moment. I am completely humiliated. What a sight I must be.  
  
The mental image becomes clear in my head, regardless of the fact I am trying to push it out of my mind. A small framed, thin boy with pale skin spread across a foreign bed, long dark strands of messy hair caught in the tie of a blindfold, hands bound behind my back with tape. The same tape holding this... this _object_ shoved in my asshole. This thought brings me back to the pain in my body. I begin to feel a warm, sticky trickle run down my balls. _I’m bleeding!_ Doesn’t this go against his not wanting to hurt me theory? I also realize the weight is gone and the pillow has been removed from between my thighs as I am pulled back over onto my back. I hear him mumbling to himself again, but I am unable to make out what he is saying. I hear shuffling again. As the shuffling stops, water begins running.  
  
“Just shut up!” he cries out through gritted teeth, anger filling his words. I haven’t made a sound, so who is he talking to? Another adrenaline rush hits my system. Is there someone else in here? “I know, I know...” he says, pausing as if he waiting for a response. I try to listen as best I can to hear the other person, but I hear no other voice. He turns off the water and continues the one-sided conversation, “Once we get past this awkward part, he’ll be more willing.” Another pause; still no other voice. I hear the shuffling of his walking across the floor again as he starts talking once again. “Just stop. Hush. We’ve already talked about this.” He is almost whispering. If someone else were in the room, I’d hear them now. All I hear, though, is the same ambiance as before. “Well, you talked me into this! We aren’t backing out now...” His voice is getting harsh with irritation.  
  
I feel hands fumble with the cloth of the blindfold. A few strands of my hair get pulled but are quickly released. The cloth is lifted from my eyes; I’m afraid to open them. I’m afraid of what I’ll see. The warm, callused hand strokes my cheek gently down towards my mouth, smoothly transitioning to a single finger running across my lower lip. The finger flips my lip ring. It causes my lungs to draw in a sharp breath and my eyes to fly open. I can’t help but see the man in front of me, half leaning on the bed.  
  
I can’t breathe to scream, I can’t move to flee. I am trapped in my own body by fear. Fear of what I see. He is just as naked as myself. He is taller than myself, and a little more stockier. His skin is more olive toned than mine, but just as milky fair. He arms are covered in red needle tracks in various stages of the healing process. That might explain the voices. Or maybe the drugs are to cover up the voices. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I force myself to look at his face. Another sharp inhale. I recognize the man; I recognize the hazel eyes surrounded by long, black locks of unkempt, stringy hair staring back at me. I have seen him before. I just saw those eyes a few hours ago, as a matter of fact. He bought me a drink at the bar. We sat and chatted for a short while, about nothing in particular. I try to remember what he said his name was... Jerry? Jared? No, it was Gerard. He seemed so normal before, no other voices talking to him. Other voices... I quickly scan the room. It’s a rundown motel room. Nothing special catches my eyes. No other person is in the room. A small relief allows me to breathe again. I slowly look back at the man now sitting beside me on the bed.  
  
He reaches over to the nightstand, the surface beside me. I hadn’t looked at the things strewn across it yet. Now that I did, I wish I hadn’t. There are only a few things: a couple of condoms, a tube of lube, and a large pocketknife. He picks up the pocket knife that could be used to skin an animal... or me. He swings the knife out of the black rubber-covered handle. He starts to turn me on my side, then rolls me back to my back. My brain goes into overdrive.  
  
“Pl-please, Ger...Gerard. D-don’t kill m-me,” I beg, stopping short of bargaining sex for my life. His face changes subtly. I try to wiggle away not caring about the severe pain it causes in my ass, but my trembling body doesn’t cooperate.  
  
“So, you remembered my name, Frank.” Again his face changes. This time it scares me. His eyes are suddenly dark and ominous. His voice also changes as he asks, “Frank, have you ever seen blood in the dark?” I shake my head no feverishly. I swear he is not the same person he was a minute ago. “In the dark,” he continues, “blood looks black, like sticky, warm oil. If you scream, I’ll let you see what your blood looks like in the dark. Understood?” I shake my head once more, indicating yes.  
  
He jerks his head in a manner that looks like it could be a tic. The soft, hazel eyes are back. Same with his voice. “I’m going to cut the tape on your wrists. You can’t enjoy having your arms pinned down behind your back like that.” He motions towards me. “He put it on so tight, you need to stay still so I don’t cut you, okay?” I’m confused now. He? Does he have multiple personalities? I allow him to roll me slightly, trying to calm my trembling body as to not get cut. I feel the tight grip of the tape begin to loosen. As I feel the last of the tape cut free, a shot of courage grips me. I jerk my arms around front of me, the tape still stuck to one of my wrists, and kick my feet to try to scoot away across the bed. I soon realize this is a mistake. Whatever is in my asshole is driven deeper inside of me yet again, wracking my body with pain once again. Before I can recover, the harsh voice is back.  
  
“I told you not to let him go like that...” he shouts sternly to himself. He grips one of my wrists forcefully and tapes it to the edge of the metal frame bed. I try to fight him, but my flailing hand seems to not bother him. He grabs the roll of tape and storms to the other side of the bed, his naked body dragging across my chest. He grabs my other arm with the same force, mimicking the same action from just a moment ago. Once my arms are secured to the bed, he just sits on my chest. Choked gasps rise from my throat as I struggle to breathe. Another tic and the hazel eyes are back.  
  
“Get off of him,” he mumbles to himself as he begins to slide his skin, his dick, down my torso. “He can’t breathe if you’re sitting on him. Then who will we play with?” His attention turns to me again. “I’m sorry, Frank. He shouldn’t be so rough with you.”  
  
“Wh-why me?” I hear myself asking the nicer of the personalities.  
  
“You are gay, aren’t you? I mean, you were in a gay bar.” I try to weigh my options. Maybe I can say no. If I’m not gay, maybe he won’t be interested in me anymore. Before I can answer, he begins talking again. “But I know you are. I can tell... Besides, no straight man could forget _that_ is in his ass,” he confesses, shaking his head and motioning towards my ass. I haven’t forgotten it is there, I’ve just been overwhelmed by other thoughts and emotions, mainly fear. But I don’t volunteer any more information.  
  
His tongue licks over his top lip. His hazel eyes flick down to my dick and back up to my face. “We need to make you more comfortable,” he coos. He repositions himself down between my thighs, shifting my hips slightly after putting a pillow under them. He reaches in the drawer of the nightstand, his hand emerging with a very thin, off-white colored hand towel. With as much care as I expect a rapist can offer, he peels the tape off my ass, holding whatever is shoved in it gently in place. Once the tape is off, he slowly begins withdrawing the object from inside of me. I cry out in pain once more. It feels like he is ripping my insides out while scraping sandpaper out of my entrance. He hits a particularly sensitive spot and my legs kick viciously. He stops pulling _it_ out of me, just looking at me. I breathe raggedly, trying to push some of the pain away and failing miserably.  
  
He leans over me and whispers as if the other side of him couldn’t hear, “You should have let me do this with my fingers. But you showed pain and he likes that.” He takes a deep breath. I can see one of his hands tremble as he places it on my lower abdomen. “I can pull it out really fast. It will hurt a lot more, but it will be over a lot faster. That be better?” I swear I see sympathy flicker across his eyes. I nod my head in agreement. He settles back down between my thighs, not removing his hand from my stomach. “You ready?” I nod once more, take in a deep breath, and hold it in. “On three. One, two, th...” I don’t hear the rest of the word. All I hear is my own screaming. Something is wrong. I try to see what was in me, but he has it wrapped in the thin towel already. What I do see is small spots of dark red littering the towel. I know what it is, my blood. Something is definitely very wrong.  
  
He acts as if it’s nothing, tossing the towel and _it_ on the floor. Maybe I really don’t want to see what _it_ is, honestly. My mind is still focusing on pain when a new sensation starts taking over. One I want to ignore. I don’t have to look to know what’s happening. His lips are wrapped around my limp dick, softly and playfully sucking at it. And to my horror, my dick is responding. I can feel the blood rushing away from my head, and my ass, to fill my dick. The more he sucks, the more I scream inside my head. Why can’t I stop this? Why must I react? I’m not consenting to this!!  
  
I hear a moan. It takes a moment for me to realize, it is _my_ voice moaning. I clench my teeth shut, choking back another throaty sound, and jerk my eyes open. My eyes must be screaming my internal conflict. He looks at me and smirks. “That’s right,” he says calmly, licking the tip of my length once more. “Fight yourself. Just like me...” The last three words trail off, almost inaudible.  
  
I hold my breath. I want to pass out. I just don’t want to live through what is about to happen. I can handle him raping me at this point, but I can’t handle my own body betraying me for this... this sick, twisted man.  
  
I feel his mouth close over my dick once more. It’s warm and wet. His silky tongue flicks over the tip of my dick every time he lifts his head. He is very good at what he does. No, I can’t think that! I clench my eyes shut as my back arches own its own. I am trying desperately to keep it flat on the bed. I can feel the warmth start its quick journey through my testicles, my abdomen, and finally my dick. I let out a choked yelp of pleasure. He doesn’t even flinch. He swallows my semen and sucks a little more to make sure he has ingested every drop I have to offer. I shudder at the thought that my jizz is now inside of him.  
  
Another tick. “It’s my turn,” he growls. “You had your fun and pampered the little pussy.” He grabs a condom from the nightstand, quickly tearing it open and unrolling it over his own hard dick. He grabs the lube, smearing some haphazardly on the outside of the condom. The harsher side isn’t wasting any time. He jerks my legs up and plunges his dick to the hilt into my asshole. I yelp out in pain, trying to remember this side likes pain. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction if I can help it. But it hurts. I can feel the veins in his dick scraping my entrance through the condom. His girth seems more than I had ever taken before. And I’ve had some pretty big dicks in my ass. I cling to the sheet on the bed under me, my knuckles turning pale white.  
  
He thrusts with more power. I can’t differentiate the difference between me and the mattress anymore. Maybe because so much of my blood is now in the mattress. I cry out in pain, not caring about whether or not he gets his satisfaction from me anymore. I am seriously praying for death now. I try to focus on anything, but all I feel his dick thrusting in and out of me, uncaring of how I feel about it. He is causing pain in my ass like I have never felt. It causes me to begin shaking violently. Much more and I think death will come. I welcome it.  
  
Through the pain, I notice he has stopped thrusting. He is arguing with himself again. “...but he’s bleeding badly... yeah I know you like to see ‘em suffer... just this once? I really like this one... I won’t give him much... fine!” He turns his back for a moment, pulling out of me. I feel like I’m lying in a puddle. By the way Soft Hazel Eyes was talking, I am, a puddle of my own blood. He returns, carrying a needle. I can’t see what’s in it. At this point I don’t care.  
  
“Pl-please k-kill me?” I plead, my voice whimpering and wavering.  
  
He places a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I can’t, Frankie, or he’ll kill me,” he says softly. “But I’m giving you this to help.” He wraps a belt tightly around my upper arm, patting the crease of my elbow. Once he finds a nice vein, I see him pick up the needle and push it under the skin of my arm. He offers me a sad grin and mouths, “I’m sorry we did this to you.” With that he pushes the plunger down.  
  
I feel a small burn, then warmth. It spreads from my arm to my chest and across my whole body. As whatever he gave me reaches my mind, I feel suddenly very heavy followed by a complete relief from the pain in my now badly traumatized body.  
  
I hardly feel when he pushes back into me again. The last thing I remember of him is him pumping hard into my ass, getting what he intended to get from the very start. But he was right... with his drugs, I am past the awkward part and way more willing to be his bitch.  


 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

  
I remember hearing voices. I open my eyes barely; I can see red lights flashing across the ceiling. A couple of guys are moving me onto an ambulance stretcher. I look to the bed I was formerly lying it. It looks like a murder scene. My blood is covering the lower half of the bed. I hear a woman’s voice. “...apparently the Threesome Rapist liked this one. He knocked him out. And he didn’t torture him too badly.” Apparently they don’t notice I have regained consciousness. But only for a moment. I try to lift my hand, but it weighs more than I can lift. I feel the jostling of the stretcher being pushed inside a very bright area, what I’m assuming is the back of the ambulance. The jostling stops, and I feel another rush of warmth start in my arm and spread outwards. I drift off once again.  


 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

  
I’m standing outside the same bar _he_ had first met me. I’m waiting for him. I know he’s in there. I have struggled to heal, physically and mentally. I’m finished recovering physically. Tonight I will finish recovering mentally. I have spent a great deal of time debating my coming action. There are two people in that one body. There is the one that hurt me, the one that raped me. Then there’s the one that tried to care for me, that offered me protection. The one that was acting under direst. But I can’t forgive just half of him. They are both part of him.  
  
I hear him coming out of the bar. He’s alone. Good. I tuck the blade under my arm and back around the corner into an alley. As he passes the corner, I grab him and shove him to the ground. Holding the blade to his neck in that dark alley, I look at him. The soft hazel eyes are looking at me.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I need the other one of you, though.” Quickly his eyes grow dark.  
  
“What?!” the ominous voice shouts.  
  
“Have you ever seen blood in the dark?” I ask as I draw the blade sharply across his throat.


End file.
